


Cherry bomb

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1966, Angst, Cliffhanger, Jesus statement, John panics, M/M, No more tours, Paul is ill, Paul loves touring and he has a hard time letting it go, References to Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “One night on a show in the South somewhere somebody let off a firecracker while we were on stage. There had been threats to shoot us, the Klan were burning Beatle records outside and a lot of the crew-cut kids were joining in with them. Somebody let off a firecracker and every one of us – I think it’s on film – look at each other, because each thought it was the other that had been shot. It was that bad.” — John Lennon, Anthology.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Cherry bomb

_“One night on a show in the South somewhere somebody let off a firecracker while we were on stage. There had been threats to shoot us, the Klan were burning Beatle records outside and a lot of the crew-cut kids were joining in with them. Somebody let off a firecracker and every one of us – I think it’s on film – look at each other, because each thought it was the other that had been shot. It was that bad.” — John Lennon, Anthology._

The different clanking of instruments were the only sound radiating from the empty van The Beatles occupied. Shaking, sweaty and absolutely disabled of any motion except being hunched over, and breathing heavily. All four of them, including Brian were recovering from such captivating shock that drowned their thoughts which were evolved from the concert they'd successfully escaped. Cherry bombs were thrown, and fires were casted brightly along with the marching white gowns and hoods of the Ku Klux Klan.

George Harrison was still having a hard time catching his breath, at this point he hadn't even noticed how severely his hands were shaking. Ringo looked over, turning his body towards the younger's and grasping at the surprisingly cold hands of George. "You're an ice block. Try and breathe." Ringo advised, unashamedly pulling George towards his warmth as George released a somewhat breathless exhale. "Meditate Geo."

"Oh what's that going to do? Is it going to get us out of here? Try and complete the rest of this tour?" John asked, face red from being in the miserable heat of summer 66' and the amount of danger that was effortlessly put forward onto them. "Did you see what fucking happened out there?"

Brian placed his palm against the side of the van and held himself up as the vehicle rattled around. "Yeah John, everyone seen it. The bombs, the threats, we even seen you utter out the statement for God-sake."

"How was I supposed to know that it'd get redirected to the mighty goody goody, racially divided, war driving, greedy fucking yanks? It's not all my fault now is it?" John shot back, face scrunched up and brown eyes glossing up with layers of rage towards his manager. "And the statement didn't even mean anything genuine. It all started as a joke in the first place. You know me."

“Well John-"

"And we've done some controversial shit before. All of us did. Yet it's always John Lennon that gets the boot, it's always John Lennon." The auburn haired man seethed, voice dripping with sheer annoyance and something more venomous. At this point he was letting the insecurities wash over him, and take over his use of words. "The problematic Beatle, the fat fucking Beatle, outspoken, rude one. It's always me isn't it?"

"No one's saying that." George tried to put in, he knew he couldn't coax a scared and angry, plus assuming John to calm down. Ringo nodded his head in agreement, and clutched George tighter from the glare that was sent by John over towards the two.

"Don't have to, I know you're all thinking it's my fucking fault."

Brian sharply inhaled, and for the first time this was when anyone ever heard him raise his voice a couple of notches. "God damnit John, it's not exactly your fault but it's not ours either. It's no one's but the report for spreading out the news, it was her choice to give it out and she did. You can't reverse it now, and I know all the public blame is going on you but is it really? All of us are a target by American people. Hell we've been targets by them, and our own British ever since we first started this shit. This is just another scandal that wants to make them shit on you. It's not your fault. Stop trying to pin things on yourself lad."

It was silent for awhile, all the noises that balanced off of each other was the rattling of the van. To them, it was more peaceful than the screams of terror and excitement at the same time, and the sound of their own heart beats overpowering the music.

John rubbed his temples, before catching a glimpse of Paul who had yet to say anything. Which was awfully concerning to John, knowing Paul was some sort of a motherly chatter mouth when it comes to one of them getting hurt. Then again, the man hadn't been himself the whole tour. Ever since they all seem those interviews with the Ku Klux Klan, and secretly watching as their music was rioted and protested against. Yet Paul never entirely expressed his deal with the issue, whenever John would pull him aside to wearily question him about everything that he had done. Paul would respond with a gentle smile, and a light kiss on John's cheek before saying; "It's a drag, isn't it?"

"Paul." John called out, draining the van of silence. "What should we do son? Been quiet as a door mouse this whole ride, and I know you have something to say."

Paul looked away from the floor of the van up to his mates in extreme discomfort, "I don't have anything to say." He muttered, beginning to bite his nails as he tapped the soles of his shoe against the floor repetitively. "At the moment I guess."

"Sure you do. You're not one to beat around the bush Paul." Ringo said, eyes gentle and face expressed with understanding. Paul did have something to say, the fact of the matter is that he wasn't exactly sure if he wanted to say it. For some reason, Ringo knew what it was.

"Must be a blue moon." Paul blatantly replied, ignoring the feeling of John's brown eyes burning concernedly into the side of his face.

George analyzed the sad, almost regretful look on Paul's face. For years whenever Paul was extremely uncertain about things, George could always figure to read his mind in a way that only he could. John could read Paul over too. Paul hadn't need to physically show emotion, it was layered in his voice tones and the reflection of his hazel eyes. If he hadn't had a mouth, then those two eyes could make an easy exception.

The two men exchanged glances, until George looked back at Paul and blinked, "I know what it is. You- you want to stop this do you?"

The van has then jerked to a stop, seemingly on cue which made Brian peek out of the window. Paul looked down at his hands, and exhaled shakily, the feeling of his own chest caving in was at its peak. "Well- I'm thinking about it. We're all mad here and we're in need of a break. Plus the girls don't listen to our bloody music anyways, all they do is scream and shit. So we might as fucking well stop touring altogether and get on with our lives."

"Stop touring? Paul are you sure?" Brian asked, whipping his head at Paul's direction. Paul was visibly hesitant, and he almost looked sick to his stomach at the thought of not being able to do it anymore. Yet, he was also sick of fearing his safety. The sickness of these, are making him actually ill and his drug use has been confidentially higher than any of them ever knew just because of this.

"He's not. Don't say something so controversial without being entirely sure of it." George said, staring heavily at Paul until his face softened. "But I've been thinking about that too. He's right you know? What's the point in this touring rubbish anymore."

John placed his hand on Paul's backside, noticing how stiff Paul had become through the few seconds. It was obvious the younger man was having inner conflict within himself, and he was escaping a plausible breakdown. "Yeah I think we should stop too, I don't see this Jesus shi- I mean- stuff; fading any time soon. What about you Ringo?"

Ringo just casually shrugged, and put on his Ringo smile. "Anything you guys want, I'm down for. Always."

Paul trembled, and with a voice that hadn't sound like his own he said. "Glad we could all agree on that."

•••

"This is an exclusive hotel. No one will bother you guys here, except yourselves. Maybe you could all reiterate the conversation we had in the van, and make sure you all come to an exact decision." Brian explained to the boys in the lobby of the extravagant hotel. "If we do stop touring then we'd have to have one last concert, and that's it. We can't drop it altogether, that'll give us bad rep."

"As if we don't have any bad reputation now." John smugly put in.

Brian gave him a look before continuing, "If any of you need anything. Ring me at the front desk. Now I'm going off to handle some business, no trouble, any of you. Okay?"

"Aye, aye captain." George replied, turning around to continue down the hallway towards his specific hotel room with everyone treading behind him. "We can discuss all that later, I'm fucking exhausted."

"Say it again." Ringo yawned, "Can I bunk with you tonight George? I'm paranoid."

"Of course."

Paul twisted the knob of the door open to the room two ways down, and across the hall from George and Ringo's. John was behind him, quietly looking around while he placed a protective hand on Paul's lower backside. "It's going to be okay Macca."

"Mm." Paul dismissively hummed, entering the hotel room and dropping his luggage in the middle of the apartment-like hotel room. "Quite big, isn't it?"

John closed the door, and nodded his head as if a turned around Paul McCartney could see him. "Paul can you talk to me about this? I need your bloody input in this, and all you do is just ignore the matter. You know you could talk to me. I won't be mad at you. We talked about this."

Paul's shoulders slumped, and John just watched as the younger man bowed his head. "Johnny, baby, I love you." Paul began, finally turning around to face John with fresh tears lidded in those hazel eyes. John's eyes widened at the sight of Paul crying, and he immediately rushed over towards him to grasp at his body, pulling him closer so he could wipe the tears away before they fell. Paul rarely cried, rarely, very rarely and so whenever he did; John knew he fucked up. "But we're not kids anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"John we have millions of people knowing us. Hearing us. Judging us. They don't even know us, they're not friends from Liverpool. They're not family members. They're strangers. It doesn't matter who they are, they'll have a reaction to every single thing you do. More specifically if you're on top of the bloody world like we are. They'll always find ways to knock you down." Paul said, pulling away from John to walk over towards the bed and lifelessly plop down on it.

John was significantly astounded at what he was hearing from his lover and best mate. "Are you trying to say this is my fault?"

"I'm trying to say that you need to put on a third eye. Be realistic here. Why would say, 'The Beatles are more popular than Jesus' and not expect an outburst. Obviously that reporter was going to spill. You're smarter than this John."

John pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes at Paul, not threateningly, nor menacingly.

Paul got quiet, and uneasily stood up knowing that John wasn't going to act polite. "Anyway, I don't want to stop touring. Even though it's best for us to do so."

"All that shit you do, I don't sit you down and talk about it. Do I? Since we're not kids anymore, I should tell you that floundering about like a bloody bird isn't the best example we should be setting for our fans. Do you think you're so perfect Paul? That you haven't been in scandals either? This is exactly what the fuck I'm talking about. It's always Lennon. Might as well be in my own fucking band since that's how you feel." John ranted, getting into Paul's face in the last few words he uttered just to make sure he got his point across.

"Are you dumb?"

"What?"

"Are you fucking dumb?" Paul repeated, his voice which was gentle, soft and Paul-like slowly began to morph into something more empty and piled up with sharp anger at the same time. "You just misinterpreted what the fuck I said Lennon. Didn't ever deny the fact that we've all did some fucked up shit throughout this time period, but what specifically are we being cherry bombed for? What are the reasons why we're under pressure in America. It was the Jesus statement. Don't try to bring other shit in the pot just to make things about yourself again, or I will leave you alone in this shit to figure it out by yourself without any hesitation."

John bit the inside of his cheek as Paul continued, at this point he noticed the younger was violently shaking and anger was replenishing his very being. "If you want to act like I'm pinning the whole entire thing on you, then so fucking be it John. You caused this whole catastrophe by yourself since that's how you obviously feel. Then handle it by yourself." With that, Paul brushed past him in determination to get away from him at the moment until John spun and grasped urgently at his wrist.

"No. You're not leaving me." John said, thrusting Paul towards him with sudden animalistic strength. "Paul I- you know I just say things." John said, gripping Paul tight as the younger struggled with seething anger.

"John let me go- don't fucking touch me!" Paul cried out, slapping his hand against John's arms and shoulder. "Piss off! Handle it by yourself!" He literally rotated, and slunk out of John's arms in a way that made John almost entirely believe that Paul was a cat.

John was after him though, grasping at his waist to pull him away from the door and back towards the bed. "Paul! Come on let me try and explain, I listened to you, now you have to listen to me!“

Paul shoved John away from him, and stared him straight in the eye. "If you listened to me we wouldn't be arguing right now would we? Leave me alone, I don't feel good." Paul was about to move away again, but John intervened the second time with an arm wrapped around Paul's waist. 

"Wait, seriously Macca come here. Don't go, I'm sorry okay?" John begged, but Paul simply wasn't budging. John noticed how ridiculously pale Paul had became over the few seconds, which is another reason why he pulled the younger towards him. Over the time of the troubles, he had noticed Paul was becoming ill even more due to stress which simply wasn't good for a twenty-four year old man. Paul would just simply kiss the concern away, but ever since the November thirteenth, ninety sixty-three interview John was paranoid about Paul just collapsing out of nowhere.

"Okay John, just let me go. I really don't feel well. I'm tired." Paul dug his nails into John's skin, causing the older to hiss and remove his grip away from his Paul.

"You don't sound convinced."

Paul stared towards the door for a couple of seconds and then turned to face his boyfriend. "Your words are destructive." He said, before walking towards the bed and crawling into it.

"So are yours." John replied under his breath, heading over towards Paul, watching as he would scrummage and wither around under the covers. "You said you were fine whenever I asked if you felt ill."

"It's just stress John." Paul muttered, closing his eyes as tiredness washed over him.

•••

"Where's Paul?" Brian queried the three Beatles located in George's room. It was obvious from the worried look on John's face that Paul was ill with something, it had always been that way whenever Paul had fallen sick. "This is a group meeting, he needs to be hear if we're going to make the final decision."

“He's the one that brung up the tour ending thing." George said, and then thought about it for a bit. "I mean- maybe this just isn't the right time to go bother him now. He's been ill lately."

"What do you mean? I've never seen him ill or heard of him being ill."

Ringo thought about the time he caught Paul awake at four in the morning. Hunched over the balcony of a southern condo they were settled in by a company they were endorsing. It was weird to Ringo at how Paul was just- not himself during the tour. Especially during press conferences, a more shaper and sarcastic man was out, something that Paul originally vowed to keep hidden for the limelight.

“He's stressed really." John said, rubbing his forearm and thinking about his boyfriend in the other room, hopefully sleeping. "This is my fault."

"John for the last time.." Brian started, until he began shaking his head when John had bluntly walked away from the group. "Guys, come on. I have to have a validation that you all want to stop touring."

"Well then, why don't you ask Paul. I definitely don't want to tour anymore. Being feared of getting shot." George said, shuddering at the thought of a bullet fatally entering his skin.

He hadn't even notice John creeping up behind him, placing his hands down sinisterly on the younger man's shoulders. "What's the matter with getting a bullet pumped into you." John whispered into his ear, before pulling away quickly when George swung his fist in John's direction. "Why'd you word it like that?" George embarrassingly asked, deeply blushing while Ringo and John shared a laugh.

Brian twisted the knob to Paul's hotel room door, and as he entered the room he couldn't help but to feel the significance of his stomach dropping. One last say in the matter, then the touring days of The Beatles are gone. Hopefully not forever, it all depends on the outcome of everything that would unfold from this point on. Brian crept inside, heading towards the bed and placing his hand on Paul's shoulder. "Paul? Hey Paul, could you wake up? You've been asleep all day and we have a meeting waiting for us right now."

Brian turned Paul over onto his back, noticing that his body was hot to the touch. “Are you alright? Are you really ill?” Brian had the audacity to ask, trying to hold back the rising anxiety in his chest at the sight of an obviously ill Paul McCartney. “Paul?” Brian called out again, panicking as he shook Paul some more.

———

_ Cincinnati, Ohio _

John stepped off of the plane first, and turned around to see Paul clambering behind him. By afar there was the sound of a commentator voicing out the way each of the Beatles stepped off of the plane. Paul took in a deep breath, and felt as if he was going to gag right then and there. It wouldn’t be a good look, since the night before Brian found him unconscious and suffering from a staggeringly high fever of 104.

”Good, Paul?” John asked, placing his hand on Paul’s lower backside just to remind Paul that he was here. “I’m sorry about everything you know. This is our last tour, soon we wouldn’t have to worry about it.” 

Paul waved a bit at the crowd, letting the cameras flash pics of the four young men stumped in the middle of the stairs. With clenched teeth, he leaned in close to John and muttered. “I know Johnny. I know.”

•••


End file.
